A New Begininng
by hiei1317
Summary: based largly on the movie. Please see authors note for more details. T to be very safe...
1. Chapter 1

a/n: gr! I can't believe it took me this long to post but here's the schedule I've been dealing with: school, family problems, more school, worse family problems, stress... so I've just been trying to find the right time...

this is, in short, after Javert, in the movie, falls into the river... so yeah... pretty much self explanitory, and for the disclaimer: i own nothing! and the book was pretty good!

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JAVERT POV

Falling backwards, I feel the water slap my back, knocking some of the precious air that I have in my lungs out of me. To me, this only means a quicker death. I keep my eyes open until I feel the last of the water swallow me into its black pit. This is when I allow my eyes to droop; this is when I expect to die.

I do not fight the current that suddenly overwhelms me, pulling me lower and harder into the river where I will die. I only start to fight when I feel the last of my life in me, when my lungs start to burn with the need of air. Fighting is futile, though, since I chained my hands.

Now, on the brink of death, I find myself wanting to live.

Suddenly, there is something around me, something stronger than the current. It must be a delusion, since I continue to move down river. The last thing I remember before giving in to the pain, is my face feeling warm, as I break the surface of the water, perhaps for the last time.

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Feeling my mind pulling me back into existence, I find the sensation anything but pleasant. The pain that wracks my body is immense, including the searing of my lungs with every intake of the air around me. Yet, my body feels strangely warm, confirming the thoughts that I am not in the river any more.

Opening my eyes tentatively, I look up and see a ceiling above me. I had not expected to live, let alone be taken into a house. Closing my eyes once more, I try to remember what happened. I remember falling backwards into the water, and I remember falling to the bottom. I also remember moving again, but I couldn't tell by that point whether I was going up or down. Then there was warmth, followed by a deep, numbing sensation.

Letting my eyes flutter open once more to the unpleasant and almost violently bright light, I make sure that I show no other signs of movement, no other signs on consciousness. There's a fluttering movement to my left. I freeze. When the movement has long since died away, I turn my head to the left to find the source: a fluttering shade by an open window. The air outside seems a bit cool, but the sheets I'm under keep me a pleasant temperature.

Taking the opportunity of being alone, I slowly try to sit up, only to be met half way by a shock of pain, and I fall back into the sheets, barely managing to bite back a cry. Deciding that there is no other way to do this, I force myself out of the sheets and into a sitting position in one, quick, movement. Nausea sweeps over me in a wave, and I barely swallow enough to force down what was trying to escape.

Swiftly moving my legs off to the side, I see that I am dressed in my same uniform pants, but I'm lacking a shirt. All the better, it seems quite warm in here. Quickly hopping down to the floor, I turn to the door and stop.

I watch as the doorknob starts to turn, and I quickly start to move backwards, only stopping when my back is completely pressed against the wall. I'm almost afraid. Afraid of who this may be, afraid that they might know who I am, afraid that they might do something to me. The fear, though, is a small amount, and I quickly let my instincts take over, standing tall, but still against the wall. When the door opens in full though, the fear returns and is greater. It's the man that I loathe, the man that I threw away my life to capture, the convict, Jean Valjean.

I tense, my body suddenly quite aware. Ready to fight. Ready to run.

He looks to the empty bed with confusion, then looks to me.

Heaving a sigh, he makes no move to come any closer as he comments, "You really shouldn't be up. I'm actually surprised that you haven't passed out yet."

To tell the truth, I am too, but I would not dare admit this out loud. Instead of speaking, I shoot him my normal glare.

Valjean moves only a step closer, just enough to close the door behind him, which he does while still looking at me, "Why don't you sit? You're very pale." He motions to the empty bed, and while the invitation is welcoming, I will show no weakness.

I shake my head, but instantly regret it as nausea takes me once more. Bile rises into the back of my throat, but I swallow and manage to force it down, for now. The dizziness that came with the nausea, though, shows no signs of relieving as it forces me to double over, landing on my hands and knees. I try to remain off the ground, as much as possible, to keep whatever dignity I might have left.

I look up once more and see that he is now standing over me.

He kneels, "Are you alright?"

My voice is hoarse from not being used as I answer, "I've been worse, and better…"

He smiles, an almost laughing gesture, and he reaches out and lightly touches my upper arm. At this brief moment of contact, I realize how cold I truly am, and start to shiver.

Before I can blink, Valjean's strong arms are around me in a protective and comforting embrace.

I quickly escape it, "Why?"

"Why what?" his voice is as innocent as ever.

"Why didn't you let me die?" my voice is a growl.

He turns his head to the side, much like a confused dog, "I couldn't just let you die. You had saved me, and I couldn't let you die, not after that."

"You should have," my voice has returned to normal, "it would have been better for both of us."

He lowers his gaze and my body starts to shake again, nausea taking me without me moving this time. I gulp, trying to force down what is trying to escape, but it doesn't work this time.

"I'm going to be sick," I state, plainly.

VALJEAN POV

I quickly grab a wooden bowl from behind me that I had originally put some cool water in, since he was and I'm guessing still is feverish, and place it under his mouth. The water within, though, has long since evaporated, leaving the bowl empty for now.

I watch as his body is taken over by violent retching, and I gently pull his hair from his face, lightly running my fingers through the tangled strands. The bile that his stomach releases is mostly a clear liquid, which I'm guessing is water that must have been swallowed during his surfacing.

When I first broke the surface with his body in my arms, he wasn't breathing and his mouth was hanging open. Terrible amounts of the dirty Seine water had leaked into his lungs, probably when he struggled to take a breath. I cleared out as much water as I could and carried him back to my house that night, having been in an alley all day, trying to keep us both warm.

When I had arrived home, I had made it into my own room undetected by Cosette, who was tending to the wounded Marius. Laying him in my bed, I have waited three days for him to wake up, and I have been hiding him for three days at the same time. No one else knows he is here. To everyone else, he is dead.

When the violent heaves subside and Javert falls to his side, panting, I set the bowl aside and lightly run my fingers through his hair some more. He glares up at me, but doesn't ask me to stop. I take the opportunity to lightly rub his stomach, trying to soothe the restless beast that is making him ill. He protests to this:

"Stop."

Simple, yet with force.

"Why? I'm only trying to help," I point out.

"Don't," he growls.

"Look Javert," I start to sound angered myself, "I saved you. I could have let you die, but I didn't. I think that the least you could do was thank me. You might have wished to die, you might have thought that you could erase your life by killing yourself, but you can't, not that way. I am a man brought back through religion and a good deed. I believe that I can bring myself to go to heaven, and I believe that you can go there to. But you killing yourself will only condemn you to the depths of Hell." I shake my head; "I couldn't allow that. You have done nothing to deserve that."

He laughs, a cruel sound, "This coming from the man that I have hunted all my life."

I nod.

He laughs his cruel laughter again; "I don't believe it."

"Believe what you like, I'm still going to help you," I comment.

This leaves him at a loss for words. He looks into my eyes, searching for the lie that he knows is there, that he wants there, that isn't there. He turns away and I resume massaging his stomach muscles in the hopes of loosening them, if nothing else. He doesn't protest this time. The thought of him giving in brings a smile to my face, since I know before now this never would have happened. Maybe this is what I've been waiting for though; maybe I've been waiting for him to finally see things this way, to finally accept that I wouldn't kill him, to finally leave me alone. Do I really want him to leave me alone though? After all of this, I wonder if I would miss him.

I shake the thoughts from me for now, looking down to the injured Inspector. He makes eye contact with me for a moment, before turning away from me. Then he starts to shiver again.

"Let's get you back in bed, you're ill and I don't want you worse," I offer him my help.

He ignores me and stands on his own, only to fall once more in a heap to the ground. I lightly take the opportunity to lift him from the ground and gently place him in the bed. Moments later he has passed out once more.

At least he woke up. That's all I needed to see. He woke up; the hardest part is over. Or that's what I would like to believe.

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a/n: please review!


	2. Chapter 2

a/n: well, this is the second chapter! Three more to go! And, as a response to many reviews, I appologize for how choppy the constant changing of Point of Views is, but this is a pre-typed story and it would be very difficult to go back and change all of that. Also, to clear up some things, I have read the book, but since this is pre-typed, I had written this before I read the book, so there may be a few details from the book, but not many, and I know the movie really didn't show a lot of what really happened like the book does, but I really had no way to get my hands on the book any sooner.

Thank you Ms. Pen, ViveLaBagatelle, NightmareFX, Tay-kun, and AmZfor the reviews!

And now, to the story!

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Only two hours of peace before the trouble starts. Two hours before I'm trying my hardest to calm a very violent fever.

Javert started tossing and turning after about an hour and forty-five minutes. He had done that a lot, and thought he would continue to rest. He didn't.

Instead his body woke up with violent heaves, emptying what was left in his stomach and then some. Now I watch as a trickle of blood winds its way from his mouth, down his chin, and drips to join the rest of the mess beside the bed. I am at his side, trying to control his shaking and distressed body with little luck. My hand traces a gentle line down his spine, which juts from his back at this awkward position. I had taken off his uniform jacket long ago, when I first brought him here. Well, maybe not too long ago, but it seems I've waited forever for signs of life. I have left his pants, but loosened them, allowing as much comfort as possible.

The shaking decreases and he manages to find his voice, "Can… you get me… something cool? It seems… quite warm… in here."

I look at him in surprise for only a moment before nodding, "Of course."

Opening my bedroom door and quickly closing it, I make my way to the kitchen undetected. I sigh in relief, having survived half the battle and praying that I survived the war. I know that won't happen though, my family has the right to know, Cosette has the right to know. Just not yet.

Filling a small basin, along with a bucket, with cold water, I grab some cloths and safely make it back to my room.

I knock lightly on the door, though it seems a silly thing to do. His voice comes through as a weak moan, but I enter any ways. He's laying down now, completely on the bed, curled into a fetal position in the middle of the jungle of covers, the covers having been discarded.

"It's warm and cold at the same time," he comments.

I nod, "I know… I know…"

He looks up at me, his eyes very wary, very untrusting. I set the bucket on the ground and the bowl on the bedside table. Placing all but one of the cloths aside, I wet the one I'm still holding and lightly start to run it along his cheek.

He growls and reaches for it; "I can do this myself."

I place his hand back at his side; "I'd rather you not hurt yourself worse by trying."

JAVERT POV

I hate to ask this man for help, I hate to admit that I need help, I hate to be helpless. I glare, but I know that fighting him will only injure me worse. He smiles lightly at me and runs the cloth along my face.

Though I long to, I do not close my eyes; I do not give in to the pleasant feelings that this small action brings me. I know that I can not do this, because doing that would mean that I forgive him, that I have put aside what he is and I have allowed myself to give in to his "reform", his "new life". If my parents could not change, then I see no way that this man can either.

I despise Jean Valjean. He was always a rebel in Toulon and he still is, he has to be! If my mother could not set aside her years of prostitution to take care of her son, then I see no way for Jean Valjean to change. If my father could not put his reputation as a thief aside, if he could not stop his terrible ways long enough to care for his son, then I see no way for Jean Valjean to change.

I watch as Valjean lightly sets the cloth into the cool basin and turns back to me, "Are you feeling any better?"

I shake my head. The nausea might be gone, but my body is wracked with pain. I see no end to this suffering. Why couldn't he just let me die?

He had said something, I remember now, before I passed out again, he said something about being "brought back through religion and a good deed". I don't believe him, but I am curious.

"What was the good deed?" I whisper.

He turns back to me, looking at me from the floor. He had been mopping up the mess that I made, and I feel guilty about it.

"What?" he asks in disbelief and confusion.

"What was the good deed that brought you into your so called reform?" I manage to speak in my normal voice, though the words seem a little chopped off.

He sets the now dirty cloth aside, along with the bucket of water, "It's sort of a long story."

I laugh, my normal, cold, voice leaking into the edges; "I'm not going anywhere."

He nods, then lifts himself up and sits on the edge of the bed, "When I was first released on parole, I was given only a yellow passport and the name of a city in which I was to report in so many days, as is required with all men on parole. On my journey over there, no one that I ran into would shelter me, since I was honest about who I was, I wouldn't hide that I was a convict, not from someone that would have me in a house with them. I tried to sleep on the streets, but a pestering old woman told me to knock on a bishop's door. They took me in and fed me. We talked, and eventually I did thank them and I made a comment that with the food and a real bed, by morning I would be a new man. I had been joking. That night, in a last act of desperation for money, I will admit that I stole the silver, and knocked the bishop unconscious in the process. I left, only to be caught the next day, and taken back to the bishop's home. He gladly confessed to giving me the silver, and even added some to what I already had. When I questioned his actions, and I will never forget the answer, he said that he was buying my soul from evil with the silver that he gave me, and that the night before I had promised him that I would become a new man. So I did."

VALJEAN POV

I watch for the look of pure loathing on his face. I wait for the onslaught of insults. I watch as silence falls around the room. He doesn't look at me, not at first, and when he does, his face is not covered with his usual mask of hate and indifference, but replaced with something softer, and more inviting. He seems almost like a child when his eyes meet mine in a quick and terrified glance, but only for a moment before they flutter to look at the floor.

"I'm sorry," he whispers, breaking the silence that was enough to choke.

"For what?" I brush some strands of hair from his face that seem to stick from sweat.

"For thinking all my life that everyone is one thing or the other," he looks up, "you're not only a lawbreaker, you're a law abider at the same time. You do both at once and you don't even realize it. Not many people would. But I do, or at least now I do."

He starts to cough and I gently run my fingers through his hair, comforting him the best I can, and when the coughing ceases I resume wiping his face with a damp cloth. He doesn't smile, but he does close his eyes. To me, that's a wonderful compliment, coming from him. It shows that he trusts me.

I smile weakly at this small action, a weak gesture for a weak gesture, but it's more than either of us have given the other. I was willing to allow him to keep his job, I was forgetful enough to spare his life when he wouldn't have done the same for me, and he, in turn, was willing to give his own life to allow mine to be lived free. He was willing to give his freedom and eternal life in heaven so that my life on earth was not the living Hell that it had become. I thank him for that, in my silence and in my help, but most of all, in my prayers.

Wetting the cloth once more, I turn him so that he is lying on his back, and I drape the damp cloth over his forehead. When his body starts to shiver yet his fever rages, I lightly pull the covers over his legs, waist, and chest, leaving his neck and face exposed.

Eventually his eyes flutter open once more, and the unreadable expression has returned. I inwardly frown, but I know that I have made improvement. Not too long ago, this same man would shoot me without a second thought, but now he lies in my own home, in my own bed, and seemingly feels safe.

JAVERT POV

"Do you need anything?" his voice is as soft as silk.

Do I need anything? I guess in this position, it's whatever he thinks I need. I have no control over what happens to me, I have no defense. This man could kill me, and though I know he will not, it still does not answer the question he asked though.

The nausea has subsided, very much so. My stomach is empty, and if I don't eat, that could mean trouble for me in the long run, but right now? I'm not too hungry. I don't need anything; I don't want anything, not from Jean Valjean.

"No," quick, precise, harsh.

He nods and sits in a chair at my side.

"Aren't you going to protest?" I inquire, "You never were one for giving in so easily, Valjean."

He shrugs, "If you don't need anything, then you don't. I can't argue about something that I know nothing about."

Does he know nothing? He seems to surprise me with how much he truly knows more and more recently. He could be lying, but why would he? What good comes from him lying about this?

I don't think I will ever truly understand the mind of Jean Valjean.

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**a/n: please review!**


	3. Chapter 3

a/n: pretty much i'm just having a shitty time, and i'm sorry for the language, but lets leave it at: too. much. strees.

I understand that this would be better all in 3rd person POV, but see above comment as to why i won't and possibly will just go back and fix it later.

thank you to EVERYONE that has reviewed

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VALJEAN POV

He seems tired, and he has every reason to be, so I stand, "I should go check on Cosette and Marius, I'll be back shortly."

He nods, curtly, but says nothing, his eyes starting to droop with sleep.

I frown at him, but withdraw the cloth and place it on the table before making my way out of the room.

Walking down the hall, I can hear the pained cries of Marius as Cosette cleans his wounds. I can almost visualize the streets from those few days back, the men lined up behind the baricades, sitting ducks, and the cannons ripping the defenses to shreds. If I close my eyes, I know I will see the streets from that night, that day, and I know I will see the dead, and hear the wounded.

I make it a job not to close my eyes, not even to blink, as I walk into Cosette's room.

Marius is laying on the bed, sweat collecting in a thick layer on his skin. Cosette is near a basin a few feet away, rinsing a bloody cloth. There is no question, it is a lot of blood. Marius is lucky to be alive. I guess I am too, though Javert is almost a different case completely. He's lucky to be alive, but he doesn't think so.

Cosette looks over, "Oh, Papa, are you alright? You disappear into your room for hours!"

I smile, "I'm fine, Cosette, just very tired."

"Papa," she moves to my side and places a carressing hand on my cheek, "you should rest then. Let me help you, like you did for me so many times."

I pause for a moment, "Cosette, please, I'm alright, really. I just need to have a little time to rest. I'll be back to normal soon, I promise." I hope.

Her hand stays on my cheek, comfortingly, and then falls to her side as she moves back to Marius. I move to his side as well.

Marius looks at me with a half closed eye, the other one swollen shut completely.

This is the first time he's been aware enough to recognize me, "Are they going to take me away? When I get better, are they going to shoot me?"

He is a down to business man, I can give him that, "No, they aren't going to hurt you."

"Why not?" he looks at me in disbelief.

"Because," I look away from his childlike face, not creased yet with the cares of the world, "someone has made a sacrifice so you will not be harmed, and neither will I."

I look back to his face as he asks the inevitable question, "Who?"

I sigh, "Inspector Javert."

He gawks at me, mouth hung open, "What happened?"

"Not now," I answer commandingly, "that is not a story for these times."

He nods, "I understand, the tragedy of the defeat is still quite close."

"And you have not even been aware until just now, how are you feeling?" I look down to the lump on top of the covers that consists of clothing and bandages and somewhere beneath that a wound.

"Better. Better than when I was first hit, I'll give it that," he grins.

That's a relief, though I do not know how loving I can be to a man who jokes about serious issues. The injury he sustained is not a laughing matter. It was deep and still has a chance of getting infected. Best not to lay that on his shoulders.

I'm shaken from my thoughts by Cosette, her hand laying on my forearm, "Are you sure you are okay, Papa. You never told me what happened, I want to know."

"Again, Cosette, I have promised that for another time," I answer.

She accepts the answer, for now.

I start to feel weary from a lack of sleep, but quickly brush that off. I can sleep later, when I'm sure that I will not be bothered in my room, and same for the Inspector. The last thing I need is for a battle to begin in my own house when I am not around to control it.

The weariness takes me again, and I feel Cosette's arm quickly hold me in place as I sway.

"Papa, please, let me take you to your room, you need your rest," she insists.

"Cosette, wait, please!" I protest as she drags me out of the room. Toussaint comes walking past me and I fear she may have entered my room, but on seeing the door, I can tell she was only up here for Marius.

Cosette continues to tug on my sleeve, ignoring my protests and anything in her way.

I sigh as we reach the door and she opens it. She doesn't go in either, she just stares there, with that blank look born on reeling senses. She makes to run and scream but I grab her and drag her into an empty room next to mine.

Upon letting her go and standing between her and her escape, she screams, "Is that who I think it is?"

I swallow and nod. She screams in terror, a terrible sound that shreds my heart into nothingness.

"Please Cosette, calm down," I insist, my own voice strangely calm.

"Settle down?" her voice is quite, but then she yells once more, "You want me to settle down? You are scared of that man, Papa, I watched him scare the wits out of you and now you hide him in our home, you even hide him from the others living with you! Tell me what this is about, Papa, I want to know the truth. I think I have earned that much!"

I nod and heave a sigh, "You're right, Cosette, I do owe you that much. I owe you more than that, but for now, I think that it's safest that you only know what you need to."

She frowns, but gives in, "Whatever you need to tell me, whatever I need to do, I'm here, Papa."

I smile as she comes over and lightly rests a hand on my shoulder. She leads me to a chair, and I gladly take a seat as I think of the right way to tell her the truth without putting her or Marius in danger.

"You see, Cosette, Javert caught me," I begin, "he captured me when I was checking on Marius after escaping through the sewers. He knew where I would be, and he stopped me. I took Marius to a carriage and begged Javert to let me get him to a doctor. Javert told me Marius was to be shot, but I bargained with him, and he agreed to take me instead. He had caught me, and I accepted that. I brought Marius back here and prepared you all the best I could for when I had gone, for when I died. I left you with the thought of likely never returning. When I returned to the shore of the Seine, where Inspector Javert was waiting, he talked to me like I had never heard him talk before. It was almost painful to listen to him. He asked me why I didn't kill him when I had the chance, because I did have the chance, more than once. I told him he didn't deserve it, I told him the truth. He asked me if I really wanted to go back to the quarries, and I answered no. He said we finally agreed on something, and I knew then that something major would happen to one of us, I never expected it to be both of us. He uncuffed me, declared me a free man, chained himself, and fell back into the Seine. I could have let him go, I could have let him die, and for a moment, just a moment, I was walking away, with my freedom. Then something hit me, that he still didn't deserve death. It hit me that we were both free, even if we were both alive. So I ran back, I jumped in, and I saved him."

Now that I have this weight off of my chest, now that she knows the truth, I finally notice that she is wearing her mother's necklace, and that she looks more beautiful then ever.

She looks this way because I now accept something, I accept that I am free, I accept that Javert is free. We're equals now, and all I have to do is show him this. Not an easy job, but I know he'll see it eventually.

Cosette leans over, her hands on either side of my face, caressing my cheeks, "Oh Papa…"

"Cosette, please, I know this is the right thing to do," I asnwer, my voice hoarse.

"I understand, Papa," she nods, "I just wished you had told me sooner."

I look at her in confusion and watch as she leaves. Quickly following her into my room, I see Javert is asleep, or faking it quite well. She quickly dampens a fresh cloth and presses it against his face.

"Papa, you never were one to take care of the ill well, and you've been running yourself until you're tired and sick. Take a break, I'll watch over him. Toussaint can watch over Marius for a little while, I'm sure," she smiles at me.

I smile back, and coo, "Cosette…"

"Rest, Papa," and with that I know there is no questioning her.

Lightly resting in my chair, it is only moments before sleep takes hold of me once more.

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**a/n: please review! only two more chapters left!**


	4. Chapter 4

a/n: oi, talk about cheap, I'm posting while at school! Thank you to all of those who have reviewed!

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JAVERT POV

Opening my eyes, it takes a few seconds for me to recognize my surroundings. When I do, it is not Valjean above me, but Cosette. I instantly try to sit up, to get away, to cover myself and save what shred of dignity I have left.

When I do, she lightly presses a hand to my chest and forces me to stay down. I glare at her and she ignores it, "I'm not going to hurt you. My father was tired. He needed rest."

I nod, but I keep a wary eye on her. I have had her at gunpoint and she has held a gun against me as well. I don't know whether she can be trusted. I can understand Jean Valjean; he admitted that he would never kill me and that I believe. This bastard child has made no such deal.

She wets a cloth and as she moves to place it on my forehead, I stare at her warily. I would expect her to draw back, I would expect her to continue, but I would never expect her to laugh, which is precisely what she does. She laughs at me, at first only a giggle, and then full-blown laughter.

"Ladies should know their place in society," I growl, "they should know better than to treat a man with such disrespect."

She turns to me and though the laughter dies from her throat, it does not die from her face, "I'm sorry, Monsieur, I really am, but you really should know that I'm only trying to help. I wouldn't harm you. My father trusts you, and that means that I do too, whether I really should or not, though, remains up to you."

The response stuns me a little; it's something that would come from Valjean. He has raised her well, but not well enough. She still disrespects a man, though I highly doubt that he has ever let her out of range, so she probably has rarely ever had to face one this way.

As she moves the cloth back to my face, I do not protest, but I do flinch slightly at first contact. If she noticed this, it doesn't show. Her hand runs lightly down my cheek, the cloth soft and cool against my burning forehead. I welcome the feeling and realize that for the first time in my life there is someone that really cares for me, someone that would truly protect me and help me. I never had this as a child, and I learned not to expect it from the world, but here I am, in the most unlikely of places, with someone caring for me. I bite back a sigh as she moves the cloth to my forehead and then away from me, setting it off to the side completely.

"You're still feverish, but you haven't eaten in days. Would you like something to eat? Toussaint can make something, anything you'd like," she asks, an innocent tone in her voice, one she was thoroughly hiding earlier.

Now that she mentions it, a warm meal sounds wonderful, but how do I admit this? I am not weak, though it seems that this is what they wish for me to admit: that I am weak.

She stares at me a moment, "What would you like?"

I shake my head, "Anything, really. Anything light… I'm not sure how well I can keep food down. I haven't tried."

She nods and leaves the room momentarily. Upon return she sighs, staying in the doorway, "I need to look after Marius, it's surprising to say, but he's in just about as bad as you are when it comes to illness, though his is from injury of course. Would you be all right on your own for a moment?"

"Of course," what a childish question.

She nods and leaves the room, hurrying down the hallway.

I watch her back and then settle into my pillow when a voice interrupts me, "You could have treated her better. She was only trying to help."

I turn to see Valjean, alert and watching me, "What did I do wrong? You have not taught her the proper manners."

"I have hardly found the time," he answers, "You seemed not so long ago very determined not to allow me to have that sort of time. There was always something on my mind, I guess, but I did do my best."

I look up at him and realize now that he might not have changed, he never can change, he can never erase his past, but he would do anything in the world for her. He would risk his own life for her happiness. He has done his best.

I nod, "You're right, you have done your best. You've given anything to her that she asked, and you'd still give anything to her if she were to ask."

He looks at me and smiles, and though the sight almost warms me, I still know that in my mind he is a convict, whether he is saving me now or not. I don't know how I could ever get past that, but I can always try my best, as he has done for so many years with me.

Cosette then comes back in, ruining this little conversation, and I'm almost glad she has.

Ignoring her father for only a moment, she turns to me, "There will be a smile meal served shortly."

I smile the best I can, "Merci."

She nods and turns to Valjean, "Papa, you're awake!"

"Yes, Cosette, and I'm feeling quite better," he assures her.

She smiles and kisses her cheek before turning back to me, "Is there anything else that I can help you with?"

VALJEAN POV

He almost shakes his head then decides to nod, "Yes, I think I need a moment to talk with your father."

She looks at him warily, then to me, and I nod for her to leave, so she turns back to him, "Of course, Monsieur."

As she leaves, he turns to me. Once she is gone and the door is closed, he sighs.

"This is quite embarrassing," he blunders.

I laugh, "Imagine what it must be for Marius, he only has girls to help him."

"But one of the girls loves him," he points out.

I nod and move to his side, gently helping him into the washroom and gently helping him into a standing position before turning around. As he relieves himself, I start to blush, because though my back is turned, it is quite an embarrassment to even be in the same room.

He finishes and then makes himself as decent as possible before calling out, "I can't stand."

I turn and nod, helping him up and then almost carrying him into the main room. Just as he settles back in there is a knock on the door.

"Come in," he manages a strong voice, but automatically pays by going into a fit of coughing.

Cosette walks in with a small bowl of soup and a little bread. She sets it in his lap, the small tray barely balanced, but she holds it in place long enough for him to balance it himself.

"If you would excuse me," she quietly says before leaving the room.

I watch as he struggles with the silverware, his muscles still weak from not being used and from the fever. I long to help him, but I don't wish to push, so I let him use what little energy he has before he finally sets down the spoon in the soup and sighs. He had all the manners that one could ask for with this case, and he has been as kind as I would expect and even more so at times, but I never expected him to give in so easily.

"Could you," he pauses, "Could you help me?"

I nod, "Of course, why wouldn't I?"

He doesn't answer, so I move gently to his side, sitting so that I have an arm behind his back for support, and slowly help him eat his meal. Half way through the soup, with only a few bites of bread gone, he sighs.

"Are you full?" I quietly question.

He shakes his head, "No, but I don't think that I could hold down any more."

I nod lightly and set the food aside, "Are you going to be sick?"

"No," his voice is barely audible, "I don't think so."

I start to sit up, and he grabs my wrist, "Please, stay…"

"What is it?" I whisper, my hand starting to lightly caress his forehead.

He quickly lets go and shakes his head, and I whisper, "You can tell me."

JAVERT POV

That's just it, I can tell him, I can, but I won't. I just can't bring myself to admit that this is the first time anyone has cared, and that I don't want to lose it, that I'm scared of losing it. I won't tell him how much I appreciate his time that he devotes to caring for me, to helping me. I won't because I was raised never to show weakness, to never allow yourself to admit to pain and thankfulness. These things bring pain, these things bring suffering, that's what I've been taught.

"It's nothing," I insist.

He nods, "Alright. But if it ever is something, just know that you can trust me. I wouldn't hurt you. I only attack when in a corner and all other options have been taken away. I apologize for anything I've done to you."

"You shouldn't."

"Why not?"

"Never mind," I sigh and he gives up, leaving the room.

It is something, though. It's a big something. He shouldn't apologize, because I already forgive him.

**0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0**

a/n: ONE. MORE. CHAPTER!


	5. Authors Note

A/n: this is just a notice, since a good point was brought up by AmZ about the previous chapter. Javert was upset at her laughing, not at her being in the wrong place LITERALLY. He saw her laughing at him as quite rude.


	6. Chapter 5

a/n: last chapter and i'm posting in a rush because earlier it wouldn't allow me to post this, so thank you all for reading, enjoy the ending!

* * *

It's been an hour and no one has bothered me. I've been able to lie still, but now I grow anxious, for that's the only word for it. I want to know where they are, not because I'm worried about them or myself, I just want to know.

I slowly sit and climb out of bed, my fever having worn off a little more. Using the wall as a support, I make it to a chair where my coat and shirts are draped. I shrug on the shirt and button only what could be considered decent, leaving the top two buttons undone, exposing little skin, but enough to keep me cool.

Walking carefully, I move into the hallway and am instantly greeted by a shrieking scream. It's the sort of scream accompanied by pain. I follow it to a closed door. Knocking on the door, I hear feet moving and then Valjean opens the door.

"Javert?" he seems almost out of breath.

"I couldn't rest," I state, plainly.

"Are you alright, are we being too loud?"

I shake my head, "No, I'm just… I guess you could call it restless."

He nods and sighs, opening the door and leaving the room.

He speaks only when the door is shut again, and we are moving down the hall, him leading, "Marius doesn't know that you're still alive. The word around town is that you died."

"I'd rather him not know that I'm alive," I look back at the door, "he seems to have enough problems."

Valjean almost laughs at that, "I guess he does."

There is a silence that floats between us, uncomfortable and thick.

He breaks is quickly, "I understand that you're restless, but all you're going to do by walking around is bring back the fever. Rest for another day or so, and then we'll see. I can get you a book, if you'd like."

"You can't read," I point out.

"My daughter reads to me, and I can read, very simple things. I read slowly, but I can read," he seems proud, and he should be. Not many people would be able to teach themselves how to read, and even fewer people would be able to learn such a thing at his age.

He turns to me and I sigh, leaning against the wall, "I don't need a book."

"Are you sure? It is no trouble at all."

"I'm sure."

"Would you like me to help you back to your room?"

"No," I manage to stand, the rest having given me just enough strength.

He doesn't repsond, and I don't give him time to give me a delayed response as I walk toward the room that I've been staying in.

"Who's room is this? It seems like it would be occupied by someone else if I weren't here," I look around once I'm back inside.

"Mine," he smiles.

I raise a questioning eyebrow, but obediently sit back down on the bed.

He turns to leave and I speak to his back, "That thing that was nothing before. It is something…"

He turns back and moves to my side, "What is it?"

"I was…" I pause, thinking of how to word this, "I was afraid. This is the first time anyone has ever really cared about me, and I didn't want to lose that. You moved to leave, and in my mind that was bad. The last time someone left me was my family. And I mean, truly left me. They wanted to teach me lessons, on how to be tough like them, and they did, I just was never tough enough, I guess. I was never good enough. They didn't care about me. You do, though, and I don't think I'd be able to handle losing that."

He brings me into a tight embrace and runs fingers through my hair, "You won't lose me. You never have to worry about that."

I allow him to hold me. I let myself burry my face into his chest, bringing in the warmth and the comfort to the best of my ability.

VALJEAN POV

I knew about his mother, his father, he told me about them once. Back then he seemed almost proud of them. I didn't know that they had hurt him, I didn't know what he put up with.

I run my hands lower and lower, until they rest on the small of his back, pulling him toward me, protecting him.

I sigh and smile at him, afraid to do more than embrace him, yet longing to act like a father, I long to comfort him. I pull his head back and lightly brush my lips across his forehead. He is startled, but he doesn't pull back.

There's a knock on the door and I draw back.

I sigh and get up, opening the door, greeted by Cosette, "Papa, there are men at the door. They want to talk to you."

I nod, "Stay here, and keep close to Javert, if worse comes to worse he can protect you."

"Papa?" she tilts her head.

"I'm just being safe, Cosette, it should be nothing," I assure her, before leaving.

JAVERT POV

Me? He trusts me to protect her? Regardless, he closes the door and goes down stairs.

I sigh, "How's the boy?"

She turns to me, a little startled by the question, "Fine, and though papa told me not to, I told him about you. He says that if you'd kill yourself over him or my father, then he can put up with you."

She grins and I laugh.

A few minutes later Valjean comes through the door, "Those were some of the people that got away from the fighting. They say that the police are looking for me, they think that I was the one who killed Javert."

"Then let me show them I'm alive!" I insist.

"I'd rather not," he turns to me slowly, "You wouldn't understand, even if I tried to explain it, but we HAVE to get out of here."

Cosette looks mildly frightened, but nods, "I'll go tell Marius."

She leaves and Valjean stays with me.

He closes the door calmly and takes a chair beside me, "You realize that if you start to run now, you can never go back?"

"We don't have to worry about me anymore, the others are nothing like me, they won't keep searching," I point out.

"I know, but you do realize that if you are ever caught, that you could be in serious trouble," he states.

"I've tried to lived my life without breaking a single rule, and I now realize that this isn't the way I want to do anything anymore. Sparing you did something to me that nothing else has or could, it gave me a reason to live. I thought that my reason to live was to catch you, and now I see my reason to live is to take chances, and break some rules now and then," I smile, "and who better to learn from?"

He grins, "I guess I can take that as you'll come with."

I nod, "Sure, I'll go."

He smiles and laughs, "I brought some of your stuff, but a lot of it we'll have to buy new. I have enough money, so that's nothing to worry about."

He leaves and as I stand up and follow, I realize for once that I am not a lawbreaker or a law abider. I'm both. Just like the convict, Jean Valjean.


End file.
